


Remedy

by Kass



Category: due South
Genre: Camping, Cliche, DS_Flashfiction, First Time, M/M, cliche challenge, post-cotw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-17
Updated: 2008-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-02 03:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/pseuds/Kass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the cliche challenge at DS Flashfiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remedy

A trip with Fraser: greatness. Happier than I'd ever been, except early on with Stella. No, this was better, or maybe I just valued it more. Divorced guys know loneliness, and how lucky we are when someone eases it.

A trip with Fraser: terrifying. I'd spent all this time hiding my crush, and now we were going to be alone together for God-knew-how-long. Sharing a very small space. Huddling our sleeping bags together for warmth. Hot fodder for my fantasy life, sure, but it left ice in my stomach when I thought about how badly it could backfire if Fraser figured me out.

Turned out hiding it wasn't a problem, at first. I had a lot to learn: when to put booties on the dogs, how to keep the harnesses untangled, how to tell snowblink from the reflection of an open lead. Plus it was fucking cold, which meant we were seriously bundled. We may have pressed together, but we were too wrapped-up to feel it...and by the time we made camp each night I was too tired to fantasize. Body-tired. A good tired.

That stopped when summer hit. Arctic mosquitos are brutal. When the snow melts, it only drains so far -- that's thanks to the permafrost -- and the tundra's dotted with little lakes. Pretty, except they're all stagnant bug-breeding pools. About a week into the season, we looked at each others' pockmarked faces and hands and agreed it was time for a vacation.

"I'd forgotten how bad they are," Fraser said, reaching up to scratch a bite above one eyebrow but aborting the move midway through. "We'd be better off on the coast somewhere."

The slim margin between land and sea ice where we were camped didn't count: we needed real ocean. We went south a ways, and west.

Alaska was shocking, loud and crowded. The sheer number of RVs on the road was overwhelming. So was the greenery: even the bottle-brush spruce of the boreal forest (I was learning, I could sling the lingo good as he could) were weirdly dark and vivid after so much time in pale tundra and ice.

Which might explain how I tripped over my own feet when we were hiking a glacial streambed. Too busy looking at the goddamned trees. Turned an ankle in the silt, and landed hard on a rock. I made it back to the tent, but putting weight on my foot hurt, so I was slow. Fraser went to pull dinner together; I eased my pants off the hip, and almost yelled when I saw the color of the bruise. Like a birthmark, eight shades of red and purple, and tender to the touch.

We ate just outside the tent. Fraser bagged our foodstuffs and hoisted them into a tree; I limped back in and lay down again.

Even that far south, night didn't really "fall," but after a while Fraser came in to read. It was hotter than we'd gotten used to, and I was sweating. Fraser stripped down to undershirt and shorts, and suddenly I was sweating for a whole other reason. I wanted to roll away, read my book facing the blue wall of the tent, but even inching in that direction made my hip flare up. No salvation there.

So I closed my eyes, figured I'd try to sleep. Trying to keep visions of Fraser from filling my head.

Visions of Fraser practically naked. Right next to me. Shifting atop his sleeping bag. I gritted my teeth.

And practically jumped out of my skin when he spoke right in my ear.

"Ray? Are you in pain?"

I opened my eyes. Yep: braced on one elbow, maybe eight inches away from me, looking as mind-blowingly sexy as ever. "A little." Better to admit the pain than to play like nothing was wrong; he'd want to know why I was acting funny, and I sure as hell didn't want him to notice that my pupils were dilated, my heartrate was elevated, and my dick was begging to point right in his direction.

"Here, sit up," he said, and I obeyed. "You're too warm." And before I could argue he was tugging my shirt off. Jesus: I could feel my nipples getting hard. Before he could get too close I said "thanks" and scooted away.

The scooting hurt, though. Which he noticed. "Wait, you'll be more comfortable--" He reached over me and untangled my sleeping bag, moving me back towards the center of the tent. I held my breath and prayed he wouldn't notice.

I picked up my book again and tried to ignore him.

"I wish I could...alleviate your pain." His voice seemed to have gotten lower.

I exhaled and read the same sentence for the fourth time, willing my erection to subside.

"I could take your mind off..." He seemed to stop himself. "Well, I don't know if you'd be interested. Chances are you wouldn't, really."

I put the book down. "What, you got some North Country remedy for sprained ankles and bruises? Liniment again?" I was trying to get us on what felt like safer ground. Teasing him was familiar territory.

"Liniment could be involved, yes, though with your injury I'm not sure I'd try anything that ambitious."

You have a dirty mind, Kowalski, I told myself. He sure as hell isn't thinking what you're thinking.

Probably whatever he was thinking would be completely unsexy. And it would help me stop obsessing about how badly I wanted to touch him. "Hey, I'm game. Lay it on me."

Bad phrasing. Shit. My face heated up. If he didn't know what I'd been thinking, he probably knew it now.

Fraser knelt up, seeming to fill the tent. He shifted, and climbed over me so his knees were on either side of my thighs, careful not to jostle my bruise. I think I'd stopped breathing, so dazzled by the sight of him. In that instant I think I would have risked my night's lodging, our trip, even our friendship to be able to grind up against him and feel his cock swelling next to mine.

And then his arms were bracketing my head, and he was lowering himself like a cadet doing pushups girl-style, until his mouth met mine.


End file.
